The Lover And The Pretender
by wynnie the pooh
Summary: Jack Hodgins and his wife, Clarissa, are having marital problems. She's sleeping with his best friend, Terrence Bancroft, and he's only looking for someone who can ease his pain. AU
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Bones, no matter how much I really wish I did. That writing team would be great to be on.

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Prologue**_

Jack Hodgins was not a man to cry. His life could fall down around his knees, but in all his time, he had never cried. When his parents died, he did not shed a tear. When his first girlfriend left him for his classmate, he did not bat an eyelash. Inside, his stomach could roil, his heart burn, but never had he shown his emotions to the outside world. He was a man, and a man should not cry.

* * *

**Hi, so this is a new story that I came up with while watching 'The Man In The Mansion'. The idea stuck in my head, and I couldn't get it to leave, so I ran with it! This is my first time using a beta for my stories, so I'd love to thank dr. tempe bones (Erin) for her help in editing this. Even though it's so short, she was an invaluable help! Her small changes made this sound so much better that what I had originally written!**

**Also, thank you to the Foo Fighter's and their song The Pretender, for inspiring me to call this story what it is. I had so much trouble picking a name, but this was the one that stood out to both Erin and I so hopefully you all like it as well.**

**Please, feel free to review and tell me what you think about the idea, and hopefully, the first chapter will be coming really soon. Again, I hope you enjoyed this, and I can't wait to hear from you!**

**xx Wynnie**


	2. I Never Knew Or Guessed My Crime

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bones.**_**  


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Chapter, The First:  
**__**I Never Knew Or Guessed My Crime**_

The street was dark. The sign creaked in a way that could be described as ominous, but Jack Hodgins walked with a purposeful stride. The gravel beneath his feet crunched crisply and the gate swung open without a noise.

Jack liked walking at night. It kept him calm, soothed his mind after a day at work, and kept him from lashing out at his wife when he arrived home. He loved his wife - truly, he did - but sometimes things just came down on him too hard, and recently they'd been coming down often. He would not hit her, he was not that kind of man. But instead, he would yell and sit moodily on his own for the remainder of the evening. They hadn't shared the same bed in over a month.

'Jack, is that you?' Clarissa called from the kitchen as he slipped through the front door.

'Yeah, it's me.'

'Where have you been? It's almost midnight, and you missed dinner.'

Jack pulled his jacket off with one hand and hooked it onto the coat rack. 'Work ran late. Sorry.' He didn't like lying to his wife, but sometimes, it was necessary. She wouldn't appreciate the truth. She wouldn't appreciate it if he told her that he walked at night to avoid her, to prolong these awkward conversations.

'Dinner's in the oven. I'll be in the living room if you need me.'

This was how most nights ran in the Hodgins household. Jack would arrive home late, Clarissa would have a meal prepared for him, he would eat alone and spend the evening in the confines of his office, looking over important documents for his second job, as head of the Cantilever Group, the third largest privately owned corporation in America.

With a grimace, Jack snapped the elastic band on his wrist. It rebounded, leaving a red, painful welt. He hated the Cantilever Group. He hated it with all his being. He hated being the sole heir, he hated the extra work it required, and he hated the fact that the work itself was tiresome and boring. He disliked all things administration, and his position involved considerable amounts of administrative work.

He pulled his dinner from the oven and set it down upon the kitchen counter, glancing over it's contents. A mushy pile of meatloaf, a small mound of peas and mashed potato, and a few carrots. Pleasant. He was sure he could see the moisture draining from the vegetables as he watched. This was the only downfall to arriving home late. The meals were disastrous.

He shoveled a forkful of the dry meat into his mouth and drew the plate across to the table, chewing quickly at the food.

The only joy in his life was his day job. The Jeffersonian Institute, with it's bells and whistles, was not a place that could be considered lowly, but he found that, within the team he worked with, there was a kind of family atmosphere, one that was hard for him to achieve at home.

First, there was Dr Brennan, the anthropologist, who they all looked to as a leader. She was smart, completely rational, and a brilliant scientist. Her only pitfall was her persistent inability to understand anything close to a modern joke.

Then came Agent Booth, the cop from the FBI who was in charge of bringing the criminal cases to the lab, and catching the bad guys. Jack didn't agree with him on some of the fundamental ideals of the FBI, but they had come to an agreement, and all seemed, for now, on par between them.

Dr Camille Saroyan was the official head of the unit, and tried continuously to press her authority upon the rest of the team, to little or no avail. She had come onto the team too late in the game to be considered worthy of anyones true respect, and instead she was a good friend.

But for Jack, there could be no one at the Jeffersonian who he got along with more than Zack Addy. He was a little bit mental, scrawny, and had an infallible understanding of logic, but he had no understanding of women, and this was Jack's main goal in life, to get Zack a girlfriend.

And then there was Angela. There was nothing much to say on the point of Angela. She was beautiful, tall and slender, and the kind of woman who drew attention wherever she walked. Jack couldn't deny that she'd drawn his attention as well, but he had good morals, and a wife whom he loved, or at least liked very much, when he wasn't being pressured by other problems in his life.

He scooped another forkful of potato and peas into his mouth and tried to eat it with as much muster as he could gather. He wished he could be enthusiastic about his home life, but after tens years of marriage, his world was just one big routine. He wanted excitement, something that could bring him enthusiastically home in the evenings, and not encourage him to spend time walking the neighborhood before he gained the courage to step through the door.

'Clarissa?' he called out to the living room as he scraped the last of his dinner into the trash.

'Yeah?' her voice replied, soft and gentle.

'How was your day?' He placed the plate in the sink and washed his hands under the faucet before stepping out into the living room. She was sitting on the couch, legs crossed beneath her and her hands were fiddling with the TV remote.

'Fine, and you?'

'Yeah, fine.'

'Is there something you want to watch? I'm just channel surfing here.'

Jack glanced towards the screen, hoping against hope there would be something to see that they could mutually enjoy, that their interests would collide like they hadn't done for years. But all he could see was a soap that he'd missed too much of to even care, a game show that looked like it had been running longer than he'd been alive and a news channel showing images of another grisly murder like he'd seen all day at work.

'Nah,' he said, finally. 'I've got some stuff I've gotta go over for the managers at Cantilever. I better not keep them waiting.'

'Okay,' Clarissa replied absently. 'Will I see you in the morning?'

'I have to go in early, so if I see you, I'll see you?'

A sigh escaped Clarissa's lips, but her reply was simple. 'Okay.'

'Love you,' Jack said as he headed towards his office, but there was no enthusiasm in his voice.

'Love you, too.'

* * *

The clock read two am when he slipped into one of the guest rooms, pulling the curtains closed. Clarissa had gone to bed more than an hour earlier, but he'd stayed awake, pouring over the pile of documents his second in command had left for him to approve. This was the most unpleasant part of his day, and he was sure it was the wedge that was driving between he and Clarissa.

The papers had mostly been employee records, and bank statements, and his only role was to glance through them and ensure everything was par with the expected. But still, the pile was too long, and required too much attention for Jack's liking. He'd left it halfway through and vowed he'd come back to it in the morning, but he knew it was a promise he wouldn't keep. He'd hand the pile back, say all was fine, and let the managers do their job and manage.

He pulled back the covers and collapsed onto the bed fully clothed. With one hand, he pulled his cell from his pocket and glanced at the screen. No messages, no calls, just like every other day for the past few months. The only people he ever talked to were his workmates, Clarissa, and his one friend, Terrence Bancroft. But he hadn't heard from Terry in a long while.

He flicked through his contacts, considering calling Terry, but he could only stare at the number. He had a feeling something was coming between them too.

* * *

**So, here it is. The first actual chapter of this new story! I thought I'd post it now, because I know when I read stories, I don't particularly like it when an author leaves me with just a very short prologue. Especially as short as the one I gave you. **

**Again, I have to thank dr. tempe bones for such an awesome job with the editing. She's fantastic! **

**Also, I better thank Thomas Hardy and his poem The Rift, for this chapter title. I don't read poetry very often, but I think this story really needed a little bit of it, and I'm having so much fun searching for appropriate lines!**

**Please tell me what you think. Is the story line interesting? Are the characters realistic to you? I hope you all enjoyed it anyway, and I can't wait to show you the next chapter!**

**xx Wynnie**


	3. Within It's Precincts Hope Have Played

**It's finally here! The next chapter! I've been away all weekend and I've desperately wanted to post this, but... when you're in the middle of nowhere with no electricity, it doesn't really work out that great! But here it is! I hope you all enjoy it!**

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_**Chapter, The Second:  
**__**Within It's Precincts Hope Have Played**_

The door to Dr Sweets' office was closed when Jack arrived there. He disliked the FBI building, with it's shiny glass dividing walls and steel elevators. There was no music playing in the background, to give that homely feeling, and no pictures on the walls except for those placed there by the agents. It brought a cold shiver to his spine.

The Shrink Wing, as he liked to call it, was no better than the rest of the building. Each office door held only the doctor's name and degrees and inside was only a desk, a pair of couches, and a small coffee table. And unlike the agents, they didn't like to spread their personal life across their walls. Dr. Sweets' was one of the only exceptions.

His walls were decorated with certificates and photos of his childhood, and various trophies lined the back wall. This was the only reason Jack felt comfortable in his office.

He knocked once on the door and leaned against the jam, feeling the familiar cut of the wood into his shoulder.

'Come in!' a voice called out from within the room. Jack spun the knob and stepped in.

'Sweets?' Jack asked, sitting down on the couch.

'Dr. Hodgins. What can I do for you today?'

'Uh, you know. I just... came to chat.'

Dr Sweets raised a curious eyebrow. 'When have you ever come just to chat?'

Jack didn't answer. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and tapped his foot against the floor anxiously.

'How's it going with Clarissa, Dr. Hodgins?'

'Same as it has been for the past... while. Nothing's changed. I can't stand to go home before eleven, because it just ends in an awkward mess.'

'Perhaps you need to sit down and talk to her about it.'

'What is there to talk about? We don't even talk now. _Your dinner's in the oven, Jack. How was your day, Jack? _That's the best either of us can do.'

Dr. Sweet's rubbed a hand across the small spattering of stubble that rested on his chin, the only indicator that he could even grow a beard. 'Perhaps it would be beneficial to take a packet of flashcards based on conversation starters. I'm sure there will be some topics there which are of mutual interest to the two of you.'

'I don't even know if we have mutual interests anymore.'

A sigh escaped Dr. Sweet's lips, but he only shrugged and said, 'Maybe it's still worth a try.'

Jack rubbed his temples and lifted his feet to rest on the coffee table. 'I'm a failure as a husband.'

'Your depressive state is understandable, Dr. Hodgins, but I'm sure there's things we can do to improve your outlook on life.'

'No, I'm serious, Sweets. I'm a failure. I can't even sit down and talk with my wife.' He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone, tossing it onto the table. 'The only calls I've made on this thing in the past three months is to the Jeffersonian, and the managers at Cantilever.'

'What about Terrence Bancroft, your friend from college?'

'Terry?' Jack asked, feigning innocence. He hadn't mentioned Terry to the psychologist before, and he hadn't planned on starting.

'Yes. It says here you talked to him four weeks ago. That's less than three months.'

A fingernail was brought to Jack lips and he chewed on it absently.

'Chewing of the fingernails indicates nervous tension, which I presume is to do with the comment I made about Terrence Bancroft. Clearly, you haven't talked to him since this last phone call. What's your reason, Dr Hodgins?'

Jack shrugged. 'No reason.' He leaned across the table to pull his phone from Sweets' grasp, and slid it back into his pocket.

'There is a reason. Is it because conversation is becoming just as awkward with him as it is with your wife?' When no reply came, he continued. 'Perhaps this is all your doing, Dr Hodgins.'

'No way! I'm not the one pushing my wife away! She pushes me away! And Terry's the one that stopped talking about the normal things. He started going all shifty, and not wanting to answer any questions, and I was sure he was avoiding me, so I didn't bother calling back. But that's not my fault! He had plenty of opportunity to call me!'

With perfect calmness, Dr Lance Sweets glanced at his watch and back at Jack. 'I'm sorry, Dr Hodgins, but I have another appointment. Will I see you next week?'

'Sure,' Jack said with a moan, and stood up, heading towards the door.

'Have hope, Dr Hodgins. Have hope.'

But he only walked out the door without a word. However, as the door closed, there was one word he heard the psychologist say that he pretended not to hear.

'Affair.'

* * *

'Dr. Hodgins, I have particulates here from the fracture wound that need identifying.' Dr. Temperance Brennan's voice rang out across the forensics lab, carrying with poignancy. Her voice had a way like that, Jack had noticed, of carrying, even when she was not meaning it to.

'Of course, Dr. Brennan.' He gripped the tray she passed to him and took it to his own work station.

This was his bliss, his moments when he could be truly happy. When the work was intense enough that all else could be blocked from his mind, but it was still what he enjoyed, what he lived for.

With a cotton tipped swab, he scraped a small layer of the dirt from the bone, and placed it in a vial. The vial slotted gently into a machine, and whizzed comfortingly.

'I love dirt,' Jack muttered to himself, absently. His mind was whirring and in constant thought at the lab. It was peaceful here, despite all the death, and dead bodies.

He was deep in thought when he felt a weight on the back of his chair and he spun to find Angela Montenegro.

'Hey, you finished with those particulates yet?'

'Uh...' He blinked in surprise, standing up and pressing a few buttons on his computer absently. 'N-no not really. I've only just started, but the mass-spec is whirring as fast as it can go.'

'Damn,' she said, pursing her lips in thoughtful pondering. 'I guess I could ask Zack if he has anything.'

'What's the issue, Angela?'

'Oh,' she said, placing her hands on her hips. 'Brennan wants me to do a representation of the crime, but there's too many variables, so I can't make statistical significance. I was hoping whatever was in the fracture could play into it somehow.'

'Well, when I'm done, I'll make sure I get the results to you.' He gave her a smile and she turned on her heels to walk away.

'Hey, why were you so late anyway? You know that Cam likes us here before nine, and you're usually the first one on the job.'

'Oh, no reason.'

'That tends to be the reason people give when they don't want to share.' A grin played across her lips, but she didn't pressure him further, and instead, turned away and walked back to her office.

She was a smart one, that Angela Montenegro.

* * *

The street was deserted when Jack finally made the decision to enter the house. His stride became purposeful again, no longer wandering, and he opened the gate without indecision. A quick glance at his watch told him it was ten thirty, and he was doing better than usual. Maybe his talk with Sweets had done him good.

'Hey, are you home Clarissa?' he called, for once the first to make the move.

'When am I not?' came the reply. 'You dinner's in the oven.'

'If I bring a napkin, can I sit in the living room with you? I didn't get a chance to catch the news this morning.'

'Sure,' she said, and like that, hope flared inside him. Maybe all wasn't lost.

* * *

**So, hopefully it's starting to get interesting now! Trust me, the next couple of chapters are really great! Thanks again to Dr. Tempe Bones for betaing this for me! Feel free to review, and I can't wait for the next episode of bones, despite the fact that in Australia, we always get them late... Oh, well!**

**Thanks again! **

**Wynnie xx**

**P.S Here's a small preview of chapter 3!**

_In fact, the only times he ever smiled was was when he was working. His new theory on life was that if you just kept yourself happy until home time, it wasn't all bad. He knew this probably wasn't the best way of considering things, but he could see no other logic. Days spent at the lab related to better nights at home. Days when he was confined to the house, and he couldn't connect. He didn't want to talk to Clarissa, or anybody else for that matter, and he kept seeing signs in everything that happened. If Clarissa took a call, it was a secret boyfriend she was hiding from him. If she went out to the grocery store and took longer than expected, she was visiting someone's house in secret. He couldn't help it, but if he could spend the day in his holy land, things calmed in his mind, and he could make rational sense of the world. _


	4. Mercy, Pity, Peace Is The Worlds Release

_**Chapter, The Third:  
**__**Mercy, Pity, Peace Is The World's Release**_

Some nights, Jack slept alone. This was usually on the weekends, when he wasn't required at the Jeffersonian. These were the days when time ran slowly and his feet dragged endlessly on the floor.

Contrary to popular belief, his session with the psychologist, Dr. Sweets, did not improve his day. Instead, they left him wallowing in his own self-pity and it didn't help that it took all his effort to avoid noticing the odd looks the doctor sent his way.

In fact, the only times he ever smiled was was when he was working. His new theory on life was that if you just kept yourself happy until home time, it wasn't all bad. He knew this probably wasn't the best way of considering things, but he could see no other logic. Days spent at the lab related to better nights at home. Days when he was confined to the house, and he couldn't connect. He didn't want to talk to Clarissa, or anybody else for that matter, and he kept seeing signs in everything that happened. If Clarissa took a call, it was a secret boyfriend she was hiding from him. If she went out to the grocery store and took longer than expected, she was visiting someone's house in secret. He couldn't help it, but if he could spend the day in his holy land, things calmed in his mind, and he could make rational sense of the world.

* * *

'Bugs and slime are sublime,' he sung quietly to himself. He didn't know why he was doing it, but he'd started to get into a habit of singing, if only to spur on his smiles and short-lived happiness. It was quite childish, he had to admit, but it gave him a sense of separation from the world, which he enjoyed when it kept him sane back in the real world.

'Are you singing to yourself again?' a cool voice asked as Angela sidled up to his desk. She was wearing that trademark smirk that had become common place; more so over the last few weeks.

'No,' he denied quickly. 'I was... humming.'

'You were most definitely singing.' She shot him a smile and he returned it. 'In fact,' she said, resting an elbow on the edge of his desk. 'I would say you were singing quite ecstatically. What's got you in a mood?'

He shrugged. There was nothing he could supply as an excuse to her. He had no reason. He was simply happy to be working, and happy to be able to walk home tonight with a swing in his step.

'I have the distinct feeling something is up with you,' Angela said slowly, giving him a raised eyebrow, but she stepped away with a laugh. 'I might have to tell Brennan.'

His instincts kicked into action and he stood up quickly. 'No. Please,' he muttered. 'Have mercy on my soul, do _not _tell Dr. Brennan. She'll think I'm a creep, and I don't want her to be looking at me like that.'

'She thinks you're a creep anyway.'

'Damn.' He slapped a hand on the desk and scowled, but sat back down again and didn't argue further. With a final look in his direction, Angela stepped away, heading back towards her office.

'I won't tell her,' she said.

* * *

When Jack arrived home, he made it in record time, and he felt good. His smiles hadn't faded yet, and if he was lucky, he could make it in time for dinner.

'You home, Clary?'

A head poked out the door to the kitchen as he hung his jacket on the coat rack. 'Clary? Since when have you called me Clary?'

'I always call you Clary. It's your pet name. Since forever. Since before I met you.' He stepped into the kitchen, watching as she pulled the roast from the oven.

'And you're home in time for dinner? Is it my birthday?'

'No,' he replied with a smile. 'But I'm sure it's someone's out there, and we can celebrate. With a bottle of wine, as appropriate.'

Clarissa gave him a glance, but obediently pulled a half filled bottle of red wine from the fridge.

'Who's been drinking?' Jack asked.

'Me.' His wife's tone was defensive, but he took the bottle and poured two glasses, and she relaxed slightly. 'When you leave me here to eat by myself, sometimes a glass of wine is nice.'

'That's understandable,' he said. He shot her a grin and handed her a glass and she took it in both hands.

'What's up with you tonight, Jack? You're all smiles. You haven't been all smiles for a long time.'

He shrugged. 'No reason. Just a good day at work. And I'm planning on ditching the pile of Cantilever stuff for the night. I'll work on it over the weekend.' He gave her another smile and she returned it, letting him wrap an arm around her waist.

It was an odd night, when Jack did not sleep alone.

* * *

It was a Tuesday when Jack made his next breakthrough. He was having a lot of them and he felt proud of himself. His psychologist did not tell him that these were not breakthroughs. These were only Jack's happiness, leaking into his life, in a way which would eventually spill over and leave everything he thought he'd gained in a heap. He hadn't fixed anything. He hadn't even made a change. All he'd managed to do was find a reason to smile more.

'Hey, Terry,' he said, voice filled with enthusiasm as the line connected.

'Hey, Jack. Long time no chat.' The voice on the other line was clearly distracted, devoid of any emotion, and a pang of guilt hit Jack to the core.

'Hey, man, if you're busy I can call you another time.'

A sigh escaped from the receiver of the phone, but the voice was insistent. 'No, we can talk now. What's up?'

'I- I just wanted to talk to a guy, you know? Work's kind of girl populated right now, and you're my only real...' He paused. He could hear his own words becoming more and more like a teenage girl's, more desperate and more needy. 'Anyway,' he said quickly. 'Did you hear about that home run the other day! Epic!'

And with that, the conversation moved to baseball, and it never moved back again. Jack was glad. If he could pull off something as awkward as that, he was definitely making an improvement.

The conversation ended abruptly. Terry said goodbye, that his girlfriend had just turned up and he had to get off the line. Jack made a comment, but it was pushed aside, and he was left listening to dial tone. Despite the length of the conversation, Jack still felt that something had changed, that he'd made a connection he'd lost in recent months.

* * *

**Hi all! I hope you're all enjoying this little story. This is my little friend at the moment, and I hope it's starting to get interesting for you all. It's definitely getting interesting for me! This is a pretty short chapter, but the next one should be a little longer. Thank you to dr. tempe bones for betaing this and to all of you for reading! Thanks so much!**

**xx Wynnie**

**P.S I forgot to say at the end of the last chapter, thank you to Emily Dickinson and her poem "Sweet Hours Have Perished Here" for the title of the chapter. And for this chapter's title, I have to thank William Blake and his fabulous poem "I Heard An Angel". Thank you, you brilliant poets, who give us inspiration. We are forever in your debt.**


	5. A Dark Unfathomed Tide

_**Chapter, The Fourth:  
**__**A Dark Unfathomed Tide Of Interminable Pride**_

The rain outside the window looked as cold as ice. He dreaded returning home, but it was an inevitability, and he knew that, eventually, he'd have to take the leap and step out into the drenching torrent. He could see it sloshing in the road of the car park as the last of the brave employees took to their cars and drove away.

'It looks cold out there,' a voice said, and he turned to find Angela behind him. She'd become very good at sneaking up on him in recent weeks.

'It has all day. Where have you been, in a cocoon?'

'I think the word you're looking for is "shell", but I'll roll with it on this one.' She shot him a grin and he returned it. 'And yes, actually. My office has no windows, which on summer days makes me very annoyed, but today I found it quite useful. I could pretend it was hot, and I couldn't prove myself wrong. It's my new philosophy.'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean that, I now believe, that if you can't see the storm, it can't see you, and thus, it does not exist.' She leaned her head against the glass window. 'Which I guess is all well and good until you have to step outside the bubble.'

She turned to look at him, but his gaze had been drawn to the car park again as another car pulled out of the lot at too fast a pace for the conditions.

'Why is it,' he asked her. 'That on a summer's day, everyone feels the need to drive slow, and fry in their steel box cars, but when it's flash flooding, it's alright to speed and kill yourself when you hydroplane?'

'Don't ask me,' she said. 'But I think you and I have the right idea. If we stay in here long enough, it must let up.' With a determined sigh, she turned around and sank back against the wall, shielding herself from the weather. 'How's your sessions with Sweets going anyway?'

He shot her a look as he settled beside her. 'You heard about that?'

'Everyone knows about that. No biggie.'

He shrugged. 'Alright.'

'He can get a little irritating though, can't he?'

Jack almost laughed. 'He shits me.'

'Very succinctly put.' She nudged his shoulder gently with hers and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the glass. 'So did he give you the elastic band.'

'Oh,' he replied. 'No, that was my anger-management group leader. It's supposed to be for managing my anger.'

'Any luck with that?'

He shrugged. 'Not really. I'm working on it though.'

'Oh really. And how's that?'

He bit his lip, contemplating how much of his fragile plan to reveal. 'Well, if I spend more time at work, I tend to be less angry at home.'

'Less angry at home?' she echoed.

'Yeah, my wife and I don't really get along when I'm in a bad mood. More work equals good mood.'

'That sounds a little oxymoronic for most people?'

He raised an eyebrow in question.

'Well, most people don't really like working much, and would rather be sitting at home watching tv, or reading or book or something. So if they spend all day and then some at work, they get grumpy. But you...' She paused watching him, and he sent her a quizzical glance. 'You seem to be the complete opposite,' she continued.

'Is that a good thing or a bad thing?'

'Hmm... I haven't decided yet.' She stood up suddenly then, and turned around to look through the glass door again. 'I think it's letting up? Should we make a run for it?'

'Do you have an umbrella?'

'No, do you?'

He gave her a grin. 'My wife tells me "always come prepared".' He held out the umbrella and she took it, positioning her hands in readiness to open it.

'Are you ready?'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'Then let's go.'

And together they sprinted out into the rain, first to her minivan, and then to his own car. Despite the cold rain drenching his clothes, for some reason, he still felt warm.

* * *

When he arrived home, the house was empty. Jack's first impression was that something was wrong. He hadn't arrived home to an empty house in a long time. His second thought was that Clarissa would be proud.

He shook out his umbrella and placed it in its stand before taking off his jacket and hanging it up to dry. He grabbed the wall with one hand and swung himself into the kitchen, grabbing an apple out of the fruit bowl and taking a bite from it.

What should he do now? Should he make dinner? He hadn't cooked in a long time, and he wasn't completely sure the skills were still there. He shook his head. No.

He took another bite of his apple and thought. With his free hand, he grabbed a bottle of white wine out of the liquor cabinet and slid it into the fridge. Another few bites of the apple and it was gone, and he tossed the core into the trash. From the top shelf of the pantry he withdrew a few candles, lighting them with the gas igniter. With half a smile to himself, he took them into the lounge room and placed them on the coffee table.

Something was off in the lounge room. He glanced around himself, surveying his surroundings, but he could see nothing at first glance. A second sweep revealed the phone. The message light was blinking.

'Hey, Clary,' the voice said. Jack scowled. That was his name for Clarissa, and it definitely wasn't his voice on the other end of the line. In fact, the voice sounded vaguely familiar.

'I know you'll get this when you get home, but I just thought I'd let you know I've got a bottle of wine in the fridge, and if you get here before Jack gets home, we can share it.'

_Before Jack gets home. _

'If not, see you tomorrow. Love you.'

Jack could feel the blood pulsing in his temple, and in through his chest.

_Love you. _

_Before Jack gets home._

And now that his mind was thinking fast, he could determine who the voice belonged to.

It belonged to his best friend. Terry Bancroft.

The word that Dr. Sweets had said as Jack left the room couldn't help but ring through his ears and permeate his mind.

_Affair.

* * *

_

**Okay, so this chapter is rather a short one, but hopefully you enjoyed it all the same! Thank you so much to dr. tempe bones for editing this for me and to Edgar Allen Poe and his beautiful poem, Imitation for the title of this chapter! I hope you all enjoyed this, and feel free to review and tell me what you think about this kind of Jack and the little moment between Jack and Angie. Hopefully the next chapter will be longer, and it starts to get really interesting :D**

**xx Wynnie**


	6. And Give My Rage A Brother! Liberty!

_**Chapter, The Fifth:  
**__**And Give My Rage A Brother! Liberty!**_

Jack knew what it was like to lose a love. He had felt her slipping away over the past months, but never had he felt such complete loss. Now, it wasn't slipping away; it had fallen off a precipice, and he could see no way of it returning.

His chest was constricting, his palms stinging as his nails cut into the skin. He couldn't think. His mind was whirling too fast for him to keep up. Images, sounds, words kept flying into his mind; taking hold and then slipping away again like an endless stream of nonsense.

He collapsed against the couch, leaning his head against the back of the seat. He could feel the anger swelling inside, trying desperately to take over his body.

'Hey, Jack, are you home?' a voice called out. 'I saw your car.'

He dug his fingernails harder into his palms and managed to calm his voice enough to call out, with little sign of uncertainty, 'Yeah, Clarissa. I'm in the living room.'

He heard her drop her groceries in the kitchen and step out into the lounge. 'How was your day?'

'Mm,' he said absently.

'Any messages?'

'Not that I know of.' Jack stood up quickly, stepping past Clarissa and into the kitchen.

'Are you in a mood again, Jack?'

He shrugged in reply. 'I'm going to go through those files for Cantilever.'

She nodded, and he left the kitchen to head into his office, grabbing an orange from the fruit bowl on his way. By the time he had climbed the stairs and reached his office, the orange was peeled and his fingers were dripping with the juice. He was hardly aware it had happened.

With a groan, he collapsed in his desk chair, tossing the pulpy ball of orange into the trash. He didn't work on the files like he said he would. He didn't do anything. Instead, he stared at the wall until he heard Clarissa go up to bed, and then headed for the closest spare room.

The bed was hard and not the one he was most familiar with, but it would suffice for the night. He wouldn't be doing much sleeping anyway.

* * *

The door to Sweets' office closed with a slam.

'Dr. Hodgins!' the psychologist said. 'I'm with a patient here! I'm not supposed to see you until next week.'

'Hi,' Jack said with a wave to the short man sitting in his usual seat. The man bit his fingernail nervously. Turning back to Sweets' he finished, 'Well, I'm bumping myself to the top of the list, as of right now.'

'This is not the way to go about things. I can see you in my lunch break. Come back at 12.' The psychologist's voice was abrupt, and Jack could tell it was meant to dissuade him, but he was determined. He was going to have to talk to the good doctor, and he was going to talk to him now.

'Sir?' he asked, turning to the patient in the chair. 'What are your problems?'

'Uh...' the man stuttered. 'I'm a hydrophobic. Dr Sweets is helping me face my fears.'

Jack gave a mock grin. 'Well, I just found out that my wife is cheating on me. I think I'm more important.' With a scowl, the other man stood up, and Jack bustled him out of the room.

'What is the meaning of this, Dr. Hodgins?'

'You were listening. My wife is having an affair. Which you told me nothing about.' Jack could feel himself bristling, and settled down in the chair as an attempt to contain his emotions. 'The most forewarning I got was muttered under your breath, and I'd persuaded myself that you had never said a thing.'

The psychologist leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. 'I can see you're distressed, Dr. Hodgins, but that's not reason to start yelling at me. I may or may not have said anything, but you would have insistently denied it if I had. You were trying to make something work, despite the lack of enthusiasm both you and your wife brought to the relationship. You were clearly failing. Any reasonable person could see that, but you were blind to the fact. And you were moderately happy while you were so.'

Jack scowled. 'I'm not happy now.'

'You must admit it was good while it lasted.'

'The truth is good while it lasts!'

He could feel the anger spreading through his body. It had dulled since the previous night, but he could feel it boiling again, rearing it's ugly head.

Was Sweets right? Was it better to have a short-lived moment of happiness than be wallowing in pity for days on end, with no hope of salvation?

He knew the answer was probably, but something in his mind stopped him from truly believing it. He knew that he could have fixed something, if only he could have known about it sooner. But what could he fix, really? The damage was done. All that he could ever have done was distance himself.

Perhaps the thing that hurt the most was that he had been given hope.

* * *

Hope was something Jack tried not to have. He'd try to suppress it, but like any normal person, it creeped back into his consciousness. Clarissa would touch his arm, or give him a slight smile when he arrived home and something would flare inside him; the voice that said "you imagined it all". But he was smarter than the voices, and he didn't believe them. He couldn't afford to believe them. Believing only lead to further hurt.

When Jack arrived at the lab, heart downturned, there was no one about. Dr. Brennan was with Booth in the field, Zack had left a message at the front desk saying he was going to be late in because his apartment had flooded, and the forensic platform itself seemed devoid of human life. Sometimes, Jack liked the concept of "devoid of human life" but today, he simply wanted someone to talk to who wouldn't be hiding something from him, or trying to tell him he was better off now.

He wanted to be with people who knew nothing.

With a growl, he stalked up the steps to the platform and positioned himself in the dead centre. 'Is anyone in this place?' he called out. A dejected voice from the security desk was the only reply he got.

He shrugged his shoulder and ran a hand through his hair absently, blinking a few times to clear his head. His feet were turning circles and he walked the rim of the platform, hardly watching where he was going. He had been at it for minutes when a voice interrupted his pensive reverie.

'What the hell are you doing?'

His eyes snapped up to find Angela sitting at his workstation, looking up at him with a bemused expression.

'Please don't tell me you're trying to dizzy yourself to death,' she said. 'I don't think it works that way.'

'I wasn't,' he assured her. 'I was thinking.'

'That's a funny way to go about it. Normally, when people think, they just stand relatively still, perhaps stroking their beard, and say "hmmm".'

'Stroking their beard?' he asked with a raised eyebrow, and she made the movements, grinning as she did so.

'See,' she said. 'It makes you look like your thinking. What you looked like was a spinning top.'

He gave a half shrug and moved closer to the railing, to lean against it and look down at her. 'Sometimes I swear your brain works in strange ways.'

She shot him a look. 'Perhaps it does, but I'm not letting you take it out to have a look. I like it better where it is.'

'So do I.'

'I'm glad. Because I don't think you have a degree in neurosurgery, and I'm not willing to find out how practiced you are in the field.'

He grinned. 'Oh, I'm very practiced.'

'At what?'

'Performing brain surgery, of course. It's a habit of mine to perform a full body transplant on at least one person a day, just to keep the mind flexible.'

With a half smile she said, 'You're a man of odd enthusiasms, Jack.'

'You called it, baby,' was his reply. He didn't mean to say it, and he quickly wished he could take it back, but it was out there now, and he knew better than to try and stuff words back into his mouth once they were said. It had simply slipped out.

But he didn't notice that after he walked away, and the thoughts started flooding back, that conversations with Angela pushed everything else away, and stopped the constant longing for his old marriage back.

* * *

**Thank you everyone for taking the time out to read this, this new chapter. Thank you to Oscar Wilde and his 'Sonnet To Liberty' for the title of this chapter, and I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing this! And thank you to dr tempe bones for being my beta and doing such a great job! I hope this story really starts making sense now in everyone's mind.. And I hope you enjoyed it :D**

**xx and thanks again, Wynnie**


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